Nunc et in Hora Mortis Nostrae
by TheShoelessOne
Summary: Friends pass, and there is nothing that can be done. Stephen can't help but think it was his fault. Spoilers for HMS Surprise.


"... nunc et in hora mortis nostrae."  
  
Stephen stood silent, unmoving, even as the tide washed up around his ankles. The pyre had faded into embers, now under the tide's toe. The dawn brought the departure of the Surprise as well as Stephen's personal departure. Another glance at the water at his bare feet, dotted with bits of charred wood, brought a heavy and immovable lump to the man's throat. He tried to remain calm, to assure himself that death was a passing thing, and a sight that he was accustomed to.  
  
But no man should have to had witnessed such a thing as he had. The girl whom he had befriended, who had fed him when he was unable, who had taught him so many things about the strange subcontinent, was dead. Only hours before, her shining, smiling face was close to his, laughing with the gaiety found in her new gifts, the gifts that Stephen himself had given to her. And the poor, innocent girl, most likely making her way home to showcase her silver bangles. They must have been too powerful a lure to the thieves and murderers of Bombay.  
  
The lump in Stephen's throat did not disappear, nor did it alleviate. Losing the strength in his legs, the man fell with a small splash to the beach. Tears welled in his eyes unwillingly, and he tried to force them back to no avail. His hands migrated to his eyes in attempts to keep his emotions locked away, deep inside of his heart. The tears spilled over his fingers, and his lungs contracted violently as a sob wracked through his thin frame. He closed his lips tight, fighting the urge to break down.  
  
"Why, Dil?" Stephen asked at last, opening his red, glassy eyes. "Why didn't you defend yourself? Were you attacked from behind? Outnumbered? Lord, why would any human attack a child?" He cried as he felt new tears trying to come. Stubbornly, he stopped them before they evinced themselves. With a shuddering sigh, he lifted his head to face the sky, closing his eyes as his eyebrows pulled up in sadness. With a grunt, Stephen pushed himself from the ground, wiping the sand from his hands and trousers. Again his eyes passed to the horizon, where the sun was caressing the waves of the ocean with the tiny fingers of its rays. Quickly, wiping the remaining tears from his eyes, he set off through the waking city to where the Surprise was docked.  
  
The sounds of the city, the shouts from the bazaar, cries of children running through the steadily filling streets, filled Stephen's ears. The sound of a mother dishing breakfast to her children mingled with the shouting of prices for a multitude of items. Then came a sound that stopped him dead. The jingle of silver bracelets. His eyes darted around the plaza for any cart or stand selling the bangles, and yet he found none. Again, the jingle echoed in his ears. The sound drew him into a side alley, one he remembered traversing with Dil many a time. Following the familiar duck and weave past the pots, baskets and people in the alley, the physician searched for the owner of such a particular sound. It drew closer the further he moved into the city, passing faces he had seen before, those that Dil had singled out to him. The clink of the bracelets grew louder.  
  
He stopped. There sat three men, their faces his beneath huge bushels of facial hair. Their cloth was poor, and so, Stephen inferred, were the men. But a wicked light shone in the eyes of the two that were facing in his direction. The man with his back turned to Stephen obviously had something that the other two wanted. The sudden jingle of silver bangles sent a shock of pain through Stephen's heart. The third man extended his hand, and dangling from two of his fingers were three silver bracelets, clanking and tinkling against each other brightly. The same silver bracelets that Stephen had purchased not a day ago. The same three bangles that had adorned the wrists of the child Dil, whose funeral pyre had washed away with the tide. A red-hot anger rose in Stephen's face and neck as he saw the two men select one bracelet each. Three bracelets for three murderers.  
  
He understood not a word they said, speaking in a dialect that he was unfamiliar with, but he knew what they were discussing: How easy it was to steal such a prize from a helpless girl. Trying to keep his anger bottled within, trying to contain himself so as not to fly into a blind rage, Stephen balled his fists and clenched his teeth closed. With jerky, halting steps, Stephen approached the three men and tried to look as intimidating as possible, throwing out his sunken chest and squinting his eyes into tiny slits. Then he spoke to them in the dialect he knew best.  
  
"Art proud?" Stephen asked the third murderer in Urdu. The third man turned, seemingly uninterested but obviously acquainted with the language Stephen had addressed him in.  
  
"Pardon?" The man asked.   
  
"Art proud that thou has slain a child?" Stephen said in his jerky, unstable Urdu. The three men looked at each other and stood. They were far taller than the singular man, but their eyes held not anger or hatred.  
  
"Thou proves nothing with words," said the third man. He slid his silver bracelet over his wrist and watched as the sun caught its intricacies and refracted light across the alley. A smile flitted across his dark features, and the three of them set off farther into the darkness of the alley. Stephen stared after them, considering following, but only for a moment. It was true that he couldn't prove anything just as one man, for he had not seen the men commit any crime. Stephen's shoulders slumped from their position, and he sighed loudly.   
  
As if remembering suddenly, Stephen reached for his watch and realized that the Surprise was scheduled to weigh anchor almost 20 minutes ago. With the little strength and will that was left in his body, Stephen dashed through the alleys and darkened paths until he could see the topgallants of the frigate against the blue sky. Surely Jack would berate him for being so late, but it was a welcome sight to see that his friend had not abandoned him in favor of his strict schedule. Soon the whole harbor was in view, the green water lapping at the beach and piers. Raising his money pouch into the air, Stephen raised his voice and shouted that he needed a ferry to the Surprise immediately.  
  
"I will simply tell him that... that I had other matters to attend to," Stephen said to himself as the ferry pulled up to the larboard side of Jack's command. Before pulling himself up the side of the boat, he cast one more glance at the sea below him, where the last remnants of Dil lay as scattered ash across the silty bottom. He reached quickly into his breast pocket, where he had been pressing a singularly engaging and beautiful flower to perhaps add to his stores or send to dear Sophia. He admired it briefly, then, before he could change his mind, tossed the flower into the waves of the sea, where it was soon consumed, as had she.  
  
"Requiescat in pace, my dear," Stephen whispered as he watched the single bloom sink slowly through the translucent water. He blinked back tears that were trying to form and pulled himself up onto the deck. 


End file.
